Turn Darkness into Light
by Midnight in Lothlorien
Summary: Maybe she already sensed fear in his voice, maybe it was the feeling that everything is going to change. But when she looked back years later she knew that nothing would have been different. Eventually Barsad/OC
1. Prologue

It was past midnight, but the city was still full of life.

Catherine sighed and leaned her head on the cool surface of the car pane. Even with her eyes closed, she could see the flashing of neon lights that were flying by. The good mood was slowly starting to fade, she was feeling dizzy. Maybe taking the cab home wasn't such a good idea after all.

"Can we open a window, please?"

"Just a second," the driver silenced her, increasing the volume on the radio.

"…that was held in Wayne manor this evening to honor our new public holiday. Harvey Dent will always be remembered as a hero who made Gotham what it is today: a safe and peaceful city where our citizens can live without fear. Commissioner Gordon…"

"How was it?" he asked.

"The party?" She opened her eyes, but regretted it instantly. "Okay, I guess. Full of people too self-important for my liking, with their fancy words and fake smiles and clothes I will never be able to buy or wear. Oh, and far too much booze. You didn't miss anything," she smiled to the driver.

"Is that so?" he chuckled. "You must be happy you're going home than. Did we say the thirteenth Baker's street?"

"That's right. Take the left turn and you can leave me at the bus stop."

He stopped the car and she quickly pulled the wallet out of her bag.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"Good night, miss."

She walked down the street, holding her handbag tightly. Gotham was truly safer now, but you never know.

The city was slowly going to sleep: she could hear the distant sound of traffic and laughter from the nearest fast food restaurant. It started to rain again, and Catherine ran, cursing her high heels and her dress and that last glass of wine that will- with no doubt- cause her magnificent hangover in the morning.

By the time she reached her apartment, she was freezing. With trembling fingers, she finally managed to open the door, but as she stepped in, a noise startled her. For a second she thought it was the fire alarm, and she hurried to her living room fully dressed and with her shoes still on, but it was only a phone. Apparently, somebody was trying to call her since eight o'clock in the evening, and he was very persistent.

Catherine stood still for a moment, not sure what to do. Part of her just wanted to ignore the ringing and go to bed, hoping it will eventually stop, but she knew that the call must be important. The telephone number was unknown, which was strange; but curiosity defeated her suspicion.

"Hi, who is there?" she asked.

"Catherine! Thank God… are you okay?"

She nearly dropped the phone.

"Cole?"

"Yes, it's me! Listen…"

Anger hit her like a hammer.

"How the hell did you get my number?!"

"Cathy…"

"Look, I don't even want to know. Just…"

She wanted to end the phone call, but something stopped her from doing so. Maybe she already sensed fear in his voice, maybe it was the feeling that everything is going to change. But when she looked back years later she knew that nothing would have been different.

"Listen to me very carefully, all right? You need to get away…"

"What?"

"Pack some clothes, take all your money and go. Get out, right now. Do you have a car?"

"N- no, Ellen gave me a lift, but I came home with a taxi-"

"Okay. Call another one, drive around the city until morning and then go straight to the airport."

She felt like she couldn't breathe, fear overwhelming her. Where was she supposed to go?

"Please, just tell me what's happening…"

And suddenly, the light went out.

Catherine froze, her heart trying to escape her chest. Tears were in her eyes, but she was desperately trying to steady her breathing and be as still as possible.

"Cole?" she whispered, but the telephone was dead too. And then she heard it: a low, hissing sound, like some hydraulic device or a soft breeze of wind, or perhaps someone breathing through a respirator …

The tension was finally too much and she burst in tears, hands pressed to her trembling lips to keep her from screaming. Her thoughts were spinning in circles. _No one's here, it can't be, you didn't hear them enter! Calm down and run for the door, you can make it…_

The door.

_She forgot to lock the door…_

"Catherine Reese."

The voice was cold, mechanical and underlined with so much disgust that it made her shiver. Yet she kept quiet and stared into the darkness, silently calculating. All the fear was suddenly gone, replaced with a tiny ray of hope. If only she could sneak past the intruder…

"That wouldn't be wise," hissed the same voice, this time just behind her, and the last thing she remembered before someone hit her in the head and sent her into another kind of darkness, was a hand almost gently wrapping around her throat.


	2. Cannot be returned

When a stranger's voice had roughly shaken her from unconsciousness, Catherine thought for a moment that she fell asleep on her way home. She tried to open her eyes, but everything was blurred and she could hardly discern the face of a man standing over her. He yelled at her again, causing her to be even more disoriented, and she was caught completely unaware when the slap came, her head helplessly snapping to the side.

"She's had enough," she heard someone said. Finally, her vision cleared. She held her stinging cheek, gasping for air. River of memories threatened to drown her with its intensity, whispering of the night when the scent of rain felt like ash and rust on her tongue and the demon's voice was calling her name in the dark.

She was lying on the stone floor of what appeared to be a large underground tunnel, the cold and the growing fear making her fragile body shiver violently. Grey walls. Strobe lights. Water leaking from the ceiling, running down in thin rivulets. She wondered if they brought her in some kind of bunker. The thought of being trapped, buried underground poisoned her heart with terror.

"I still can't understand how Bane stands him. I thought we would deal with this as soon as possible, and now we are waiting for what?"

She looked up into the face of a man who was speaking. A boy, she found out with surprise. Dirty and skinny. He couldn't be more than sixteen, but his eyes were much older. Loneliness. Anger. Guilt. His stare was tired and empty.

"Please…" she started, reaching out for him, but before she could say anything more he turned, the rifle he was holding now pointed at her. Catherine's arms flew in front of her face in a pointless attempt to protect herself, but the boy just muttered something and then lowered his weapon. She felt a sting of sadness for him. For this boy, pretending to be a soldier.

"He just wants more money," another voice replied in contemptuous tone. "And unlike others, he is smart enough to know he got himself into something dangerous."

A flame of anger almost overcame the paralyzing fear when she felt her cheek throbbing in the rhythm of her racing heartbeat. But what she was more interested in was the person of which the boy spoke. Bane. The name rolled strangely around her mouth. It tasted of despair and danger.

The third man was turned away from her, his hands playing nervously with some kind of small communication device. "This Daggett rat squeals too much," he changed the subject. "We've been discussing his precious plan for _days_. I don't know if the man is really so stupid or he thinks we are."

He wanted to add something, but the device in his hand started buzzing and he turned it on quickly.

"Sir?" He paused for a moment. "Raul needed to wake her up, but she will be fine. We are on our way."

Catherine glanced at him, too afraid to stare for long. He was tall and slim, dressed in combat trousers and grey jacket, his worn boots tapping impatiently. There was a piece of red cloth tied carelessly around his neck, perhaps a sign of leadership, for he spoke in a rather authoritative manner.

"He wants her in the main room," he turned to his men. "I'll escort her to the third level. You two get some sleep."

He looked at her and she quickly lowered her eyes.

"You'll have to get up now," he addressed her for the first time.

All the fear and the anxiety suddenly returned even stronger, flooding her soul like a tide of black. Her stomach turned violently. She thought she will be sick. The far end of the tunnel was clad in darkness, waiting like some ancient monster's muzzle to swallow her. "I can't," she whispered, sobbing.

The man with the red scarf sighed and squatted on the floor next to her. "I don't want to hurt you," he said in a low voice. "But if you don't do as you're told, the consequences will be more than unpleasant."

She nodded quickly, tears running down her face. She remembered Cole. How he tried to warn her.

"Stop crying. You're wasting my time and your energy."

When Catherine despite her efforts failed to do so he simply grabbed her by her arm and yanked her up, causing her to shriek in pain. His fingers dug like claws into her skin as she was struggling to stay on her feet. As soon as she gained balance the iron-like grip lessened, hands coming towards her head instead.

She tried to lean back, expecting them to seize her throat, but the man only embraced her face gently, wiping the tears from her eyes clumsily with calloused fingers. Her own hands clenched into fists. Her body stiffened. This unexpected display of empathy scared her more than his roughness only moments ago.

"It's going to be all right," he said when he finally let go of her.

She nodded silently, finally defeated. Her dread was starting to transform into apathy, her mind unable to deal with the helplessness of the situation. She was just feeling numb.

They walked for what seemed to be an eternity, through endless tunnels and corridors, one darker than the other. Catherine attempted to run, but there was nowhere to go. Just damp concrete walls and the echoes of their own footsteps. Her guardian was almost soundlessly mumbling to himself, and at first she thought him mad, but after a while she realized that he was silently counting turns and crossings.

The unspoken questions were burning her lips. Finally, she couldn't hold herself back anymore.

"We are in the sewers, aren't we?" She didn't expect him to answer, but he did.

"Yes."

"Why did you bring me here?"

"I can't tell you," he replied. "But you will find out soon enough." She looked at him with anger, wondering if he was deliberately trying to scare her even more, but his face was sincere.

A strange sound ended her musing. The murmur of water, nothing more than a whisper at first, was roaring louder and louder in her ears. Silent voices, speaking in a language whose melody was unknown to her. It all blended to a cacophony of noise, still not loud enough to overrule the pounding of her heart. "No stopping," he warned her when she hesitantly started to slow down her pace. As apprehensive as she was about what awaited her behind this last turn- she had no choice.

The sight took her breath away.

It seemed like another city was build under the streets of Gotham. An enormous hall clad in twilight and shadows. Men sat around small campfires, talking, their weapons resting next to them. Only now she was able to comprehend the seriousness of the situation. This was not only about her. These men were soldiers. She was looking at an army.

The man with the red scarf was leading her through the crowd, nodding left and right to greet the people he knew. She felt the stares of men, and blood rushed to her face, but luckily she heard no comments about her or the blue, knee-length dress she was wearing. Despite that, she was relieved when the two finally left behind the resting men. There was another corridor leading away from the hall, wider and with better lightning than the rest, with doors on the left and right. Her guardian knocked on the first door, then beckoned her to enter.

The room, if you could call it so, was almost empty. In the middle of it stood a table with two chairs, one of them occupied by a man with his face buried in his hands, apparently lost in contemplation.

Catherine felt shivers run down her spine. There was something terribly wrong with him, yet she didn't know what exactly. Maybe his unnatural stillness was the one that frightened her, similar to a predator waiting to strike.

"Brother," he greeted the man who brought her here. "I was expecting your return sooner."

She could feel blood turning to ice in her veins. This was the man whose voice she heard in the darkness of her apartment: distorted, unnatural. He turned around to face her, and suddenly she understood why.

It was covering his mouth and nose, nested on his face like some kind of spider-like parasite. At first she thought that the black straps running around his head are keeping it in place, but when she observed a little bit longer she came to the terrifying conclusion that the mask is actually a part of him. His eyes gazed into her own with such ferociousness that she found herself unable to stand his stare.

"Sit," he pointed at the chair opposite to him. Catherine shook her head in pathetic attempt of defiance. She was too scared of him to come any closer.

"You are either too simple-minded to obey me or there has been a misunderstanding between us," he mocked her. "This is not a request."

She inhaled deeply, trying to tame the emotion she hasn't felt for so long. Hatred. She almost forgot how cold and sharp one's heart could feel, transforming into a blade in his chest. She crossed the room slowly and sat down.

"Good." She could hear him chuckle, the mask turning his laugh into a strangled rasping, but his eyes didn't smile with him.

"You have… questions," he stated.

"Yes."

"Patience is a virtue too often forgotten in the world we live in, Miss Reese."

The man with the red scarf shifted slightly, standing behind the rest of her chair. As strange as it seemed, his presence was somehow instilling courage in her. She remembered the warmth of his fingers on her face, how he was trying to console her awkwardly.

Bane-for the man in front of her was the only one who could be named so- rose up suddenly, his enormous figure towering over her.

"Your purpose here is simple. Your brother agreed to gain us the information we need, then failed to do so. You are the assurance that he will keep his promise."

Her heart skipped a beat.

"And," she asked, her shaking hands clenching into fists subconsciously, "what if he doesn't?"

Banes eyes narrowed, judging the terrified young woman sitting in front of him. "There are many possible answers to this question, Miss Reese…but only one possible end to your story."


	3. To Save a Life

The great hall was dark and silent in the expectation of the day, the golden embers of open fires giving off soft, mysterious glow. He could imagine the rising sun reflecting in the glass and steel of the skyscrapers; how the streets, washed by yesterday's brief summer storm were slowly coming to life. At the dawn of spring, the rotting city above will be nothing more than home of the ashes and ruins and blackened bones. _The fire rises_, he thought.

If anything frightened him, it was doubt. The words were always the same- balance, justice, honor- but their meaning obscured in time. Slowly, almost unnoticeably, revenge that wasn't his own became the only thing worth dying for; and honor was only an offering on the altar of that vengeance.

Barsad rummaged through his pockets nervously to find a lighter. Sleep never came easy to him, and this night was no different. Yet he had never felt such unrest before, nor did he ever think that his faith could be so inconstant.

The very last box of cigarettes was crumpled and half empty. He was trying to light one when he sensed a movement on the other side of the hall.

The giant silhouette was standing still, leaning against the metal railing and staring into the swirling water below. He could tell immediately who it was. Bane was another lone wanderer of the night. Darkness embraced him like the lost son.

Barsad, to his surprise, felt more irritated than happy to see him there. He needed time to think and hoped to be alone for a while, of course; but there was something else creeping in the back of his brains. Anger. And it scared him even more not to know what he's angry about.

He wanted to leave, but found himself walking towards the lonely figure instead. Bane's eyes were strangely empty. Maybe he just wasn't used to see the peace that mirrored in them now.

"Sir?" he asked quietly.

The masked man didn't turn to look at him.

"Brother. What brings you here?"

Barsad shrugged his shoulders. "I needed to think."

He could hear Bane's laugh under the pipes and steel.

"Too much thinking is almost as dangerous as thinking too little, my friend."

He nodded slowly and leaned on the railing next to the masked man. The cigarette finally lit up, and he inhaled the smoke deeply. His right hand was shaking a little bit, he noticed; but he didn't worry too much about it. It happened often through the last six years. Some things will change you forever.

"It's so quiet," he said softly. "I wonder if the city still sleeps."

"Darkness is treacherous- it stifles all sounds, lures us into an illusion of peace. War is upon us, brother; do not let the night fool you. Gotham will burn."

The pain in his chest grew stronger until he thought his heart will explode. He opened his mouth to continue with meaningless small talk, but the words escaped him before he could hold them back.

"Do you remember the warehouse where we were hiding that first week or so after we came here?" he asked.

"I remember."

"There was this big storm, right? The wind was picking up really quick, and by midnight, it seemed more likely to turn into a hurricane than anything else. Raoul was supposed to keep watch with me, but he went downtown to sort out some problems with the Mob.

I was sitting there alone for a while, thinking, and after an hour or so I decided to go for a little walk. To this day, I don't know what had gotten into me. I guess I just needed to stop mulling over the same pointless questions again and again.

So I woke somebody up to take my place, made some poor excuses and headed for the docks. It started to rain, but I didn't really care. I climbed the sea wall, and there was the city. In the middle of the raging elements, it seemed almost invincible. It was beautiful."

Bane stared at him for a moment.

"You still think of her. Nissa-"

"She would continue her father's legacy, not divide the League with schemes of revenge."

"The destruction of Gotham _is_ Ras Al Ghoul's legacy. You know this, and so do I." The threatening cold that crept into Bane's voice left no place for discussion.

Barsad dropped the cigarette, watching it extinguish in the water foam below. "I can't believe we took the girl," he said bitterly. "I keep thinking about it, and it's just feels… so unnecessary, so _wrong_…"

"Not to me. The Demon's Head has no patience with men like Reese. Nor have I."

"You could find another way to get what we needed, but you didn't. Not because we ran out of time, but because you wanted to punish him for his ignorance and greed. You wanted to crush him, so you took away from him the only thing that he values more than material wealth."

He could barely hide the disgust which pulsated through his veins. Friend. Leader. _Monster._ He expected Bane to raise his voice in anger, but the distorted words were no more than a tired whisper.

"It is already done. Reese sent us the data about an hour and a half ago. The wait is over."

It took a couple of seconds for the words to really sink in. _The wait is over._ Barsad didn't know exactly what he was expecting- relief, happiness, perhaps the taste of victory- but he could never imagine that he would feel sadness.

"What will we do now?" he asked quietly.

"We will move our camp nearer to the target. There is a lot of equipment and weapons that have to be transported; it will take us a day or two to finish the preparations."

"What about me?"

"You will pay Coleman Reese another visit. It's time to finish our collaboration. You will leave within an hour."

Barsad felt the familiar shivers, the mix of fear and excitement that overcame him before every kill. For the slightest of moments, everything was clear: he knew who he was and what he needed to do. But for once, something was different; and he had a favor to ask.

"Is there anything else that you wanted to know, brother?"

"Let the girl go. Taking her was unnecessary; she doesn't need to be involved."

"She is already involved. You will take care of her when you return. If you can't do it, find someone who can."

The mercenary shook his head in helpless frustration. "If you can't let her leave, keep her here-I don't care!"

Bane frowned in anger. "You let your feelings cloud your judgement. She is not Nissa, but a danger to us and our goal, should she be released."

But Barsad's mind was suddenly flooded by memories of battle cries, the beauty of blood drops spilled on the snow. Regret and guilt threatened to suffocate him, and he struggled to breathe. "I was too slow," he uttered. "There was too many of them, and I tried to reach her, but she was already-"

"There was nothing you could do," Bane stated emotionlessly.

"No," Barsad agreed. "But you could. And instead, you saved_ me_."

He turned to leave, but Bane's hand shot forward and blocked him the way.

"Barsad…"

It might be the light of dying fires, but he could swear that a shadow of pain crept behind the masked man's eyes.

"Saving one life cannot mend a soul like yours… or mine."


End file.
